


Messages In Bottles

by Grundy



Series: Daughters of Celebrían [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arwen writes letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** As ever, _Buffy_ belongs to Joss, the Legendarium belongs to Prof. Tolkien's estate, and this is for fun, not profit.

Arwen has been writing the letters since she was old enough to know how to write. It had been her own idea, once she understood that she had _family_ beyond the sea, in far off Elvenhome where they would all go someday, when Sauron was defeated and Ennor was safe for their mortal cousins. All her kin await them there, saving only her father’s brother Elros and his descendants, and Luthien and Beren of course.

In those early days, the letters had been little more than a child’s gesture, well-meant messages sent with nothing more than the faith of the very young that of course letters arrive at the person they are addressed to, no matter how wide a sea they must cross.

As she grew older, Arwen occasionally wondered if she should continue. The communication is, after all, one-sided. She had no way of knowing if they reached her mother’s grandparents or her father’s parents, much less what these relatives she knew only from stories thought of these hopeful scribbles from a child born on the Hither Shores. The only one who had come from beyond the sea since the War of Wrath is Glorfindel, and he arrived well before she was born.

When Mithrandir first visited Imladris, not long after the Istari reached Middle Earth, he told her with a twinkle in his kindly eyes that her letters are always eagerly awaited and handed her the only reply she will ever receive, which bears all the love her kin – not only her father’s parents and her mother’s grandparents, but many, many more than she had expected, and some she was surprised to see - can compress into paltry sheets of paper. From that most precious packet, she learned that she and her brothers are held very dear across the sea. Their ship, whenever it finally arrives, will be greeted with joy.

Since then, she has written as often as she finds messengers to bear her missives into the West. Every ship that departs Mithlond carries at least one, and sometimes a whole bundle of letters, kept safe by Cirdan until the next sailing, for years or even decades may pass between ships.

Some letters are simple chatter, marked only by small things, happenings that would be of little interest if her readers were here to see for themselves – her brothers’ first time leading an orc patrol, her success in learning the harp.

Others tell of more momentous news – the birth of her baby sister, the only child in the family to inherit the golden hair of her grandmother’s kin. A few have borne grievous tidings westward – there was one written the day they had finally accepted that her mother and sister were lost to them, and if they reached Valinor it would be by way of Lord Namo’s halls. Arwen’s tears had splattered the ink of that one, as she begged her grandparents to look for her Nana and her sweet nethig, for surely they would not linger long in Mandos. Glorfindel had assured her Namo was kind and her sister would not be afraid.

She could scarce contain her happiness the day that she is able, hundreds of years later, to take up her pen to tell of the unexpected blessing that had befallen Imladris and Lothlorien – Celebrían and Anariel have returned, and Arwen has a new sister. True, she did not tell the full tale of Tindomiel, but she saw no harm in leaving out details that worry her sisters and father. There will be time enough to tell it in person one day.

Her only annoyance is that her younger sisters cannot write for themselves. While both claim to be able to write, they use runes never seen before in Arda. Neither one knows tengwar, not even enough to sign their names. Anariel scrawls what she says is ‘Buffy’ at the end of the letter at Arwen’s prompting, and then with the twins’ help patiently explains what each symbol means- and that they do not have names as tengwar do- so that her older sister can transcribe it into something understandable. It is only with great persuasion that Arwen is able to convince her to do the same with her given name, though she does at least pay attention to what Arwen writes beneath it, and even asks which words are her names.

Unfortunately, that is all the progress Anariel makes before their brothers whisk her and her mortal gwador and gwethil off to Lothlorien.

By the time Arwen, Tindomiel, and her parents join them, Tindomiel is good enough at both Sindarin and writing in tengwar to attempt a few lines of her own at the end of one of her sister’s letters. The hand is still somewhat childish, but Arwen is confident that with a few more years practice, Tindomiel’s script will be as elegant as her own or Ada’s.

The letter Arwen writes when they reach Lothlorien will be a thing of joy to Finarfin and his wife, because she successfully corrals not only her sisters (including Anariel, who could now at least write her own name in tengwar, if nothing else) and brothers, but also her parents and grandparents into all adding something to the letter. She is also able to include something else dear – Haldir’s younger brother Rumil is a wonderful artist and manages to sketch all of them at some point, even her sister’s mortal brother and sisters of the heart. One picture of the group of them all sharing a moment of laughter is so well done that Arwen is able to part with it only when Rumil solemnly promises her another.

That letter promptly grows longer still, because Anariel’s sworn siblings ask about it, and then wish to write their names and send greetings, even though they know they will never see Valinor or meet the people who read their words. They take great delight in seeing how Arwen decides to transcribe their names, as they themselves have been writing them differently. Xander at one point has both sets of names written out by Tindomiel and asks Rumil and Haldir to read them out, listening for any differences. He is chagrined to discover that Arwen’s transcription of his name leads the two galadhrim to speak his name closer to how he pronounces it than what he had devised for himself.

His betrothed and his sisters have no sympathy for him, as it is plain to them that Arwen’s choice will be the better one- after all, she has been writing tengwar all her long life, so of course she knows better than they do the sounds that go with them, alone or combined. Anya mollifies him by pointing out that he can write Arwen’s name in California runes, which he does.

Then Anariel laughs and says they may as well write all the letters, since there are fewer of them than tengwar. She writes them out, in what Arwen is assured is a very clear hand, but then Tindomiel protests that they’ve left out all the combinations and rules, because there are very few California runes that stand for one sound only. Arwen is forced to call a halt to their efforts and promise that Anariel and Tindomiel will write a longer treatise on the subject at some later date – the letter has already grown to the size of a book as it is.

Her next letter is sparser, but she must share the shocking news that Anariel has earned herself the epessë Dagnis by managing to get herself included in the Battle of Five Armies and slaying a number of yrch and warg that Arwen is certain Thranduil must have exaggerated. She can’t imagine her tiny sister so deadly, especially not when first Haldir and then Celeborn both report she is a cheerful as ever and none the worse for what they call her first battle. (Arwen flatly refuses to countenance the idea that her sister will be involved in further battles, and thinks that if Anariel really would seek out such trouble, Ada should send her West for her own protection. Then she remembers that he cannot do that without inflicting terrible pain, for Xander, Anya, Tara, and Willow cannot follow her sister across the Sea. She ends up having to cross out quite a bit and explain herself.)

She wonders, as she sometimes does, what their kin across the Sea make of such news, but she would much rather they hear it from her than by chance from someone who has departed Ennor. She takes care, though, to finish the section on her her sister’s doings on a positive note.

_Grandmother and Grandfather both say my sister is much like Grandmother’s brother Findaráto. Grandmother says she has the same generous spirit and noble heart, although Grandfather mutters that they also share a deplorable lack of common sense. Anariel says that she hopes Findaráto and Amarië are happy. I hope that Anariel will write to you herself soon. You would know her much better if she would put her own words to paper than you can through mine. (I am reading this aloud to her.) But I am sure you will love her as we do when you meet her._

Arwen does not want them to worry.


	2. The Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first letter.

Eärwen had been visiting her parents in Alqualondë when it arrived. 

It was the first time she and her husband had both come there since the Kinslaying.

Eärwen had gone in the immediate aftermath, flying to her parents’ house on fearful feet as soon as the news had reached her, but been unable to remain long. Not only was it painful beyond words to see what her law-brothers and nephews had done, and to hear what her daughter had done, but she was now Queen of the Noldor, a title she had never sought or desired. Her place - her duty, little thought she liked it - was in Tirion. 

Arafinwë had gone to Alqulondë many times in the First Age – initially as a penitent, to make amends with his lawfather as both daughter-husband and as the king of the remaining Noldor; later as recompense, as the Noldor labored to rebuild what had been destroyed, both the tangible and the intangible. 

But once the rebuilding was done, he had long avoided the port of the Lindar. He had never tried to dissuade his wife from visiting her kin, but he himself would not go. Too many memories, he said. He had not wished to return at all for many years after the War.

It was not merely the slaughter at the harbor he did not wish to recall. Their children had once been happy here – their handsome, golden-haired sons who had fallen to the shadow, one by one. Though they knew their daughter yet lived, that was scant comfort, for she had refused the pardon of the Valar and remained on the Hither Shores. When or even if she would return, no one could say.

It had taken a life-age of the earth for Eärwen to persuade her husband that he could come here and not be overwhelmed by memories and loss.

It had nearly been undone by the boy with the bottle.

He had brought it to them at breakfast. 

They were dining with her parents and her sister – neither of her brothers had returned yet from the halls, though they had begun to hope they might be released soon. So many were returning now…

“What is this, little one?” Arafinwë asked curiously, as the nervous child approached.

“It says it’s for the Princess Eärwen, my lord,” the boy replied quietly, offering her the bottle with a quick bow.

Eärwen exchanged a bemused glance with her mother, wondering who would address her so. 

She had not been ‘the princess Eärwen’ since the Years of the Trees, before her husband’s family fragmented in the wake of the cataclysm that had ended those years of bliss. Uncomfortable though the title was, she has been Queen Eärwen for many years now. 

Yet as the child shyly handed her the lovely glass bottle, tinted a delicate blue with swans etched carefully around it, she could see that the words worked into the design say exactly that – ‘Princess Eärwen of Alqualondë’.

“Where did this come from, child?” Eärwen’s mother asked kindly.

The boy shrugged.

“The tide fetched it up on the shore, your majesty,” he explained. “We thought it a joke until Lady Uinen appeared to us and bade me to bring it here.”

Eärwen pulled at the stopper with a shaking hand, certain that whatever this might be, it was no joke.

“What is it, darling?” Olwë said curiously, leaning toward her to get a better view.

She could not answer yet, for she had only just worked it open. Whoever had sealed the bottle had done their job well – the paper within was dry, and with the written side rolled facing inward, the ink was unfaded and clear to her eye. 

“It is a letter!” Arafinwë exclaimed, as he spotted that there was more than one piece of paper.

She nearly wept when she read the first words, in a child’s careful hand.

“ _Dearest Great-Grandmother,_ ” was all she could get out before her voice failed her. She could scarce read the rest for the tears in her eyes.  
Arafinwë put his arms around her, giving her what comfort he might, though the moment could be no easier for him.

She had long known that her daughter was a mother. Enough elves have arrived from Endorë since the War of Wrath that at least the most important tidings of their sundered kin reach the Amanyar eventually. 

The birth of Celebrian Celeborniel was certainly news, for many had doubted Galadriel would ever bear a child after so many years of marriage. But Eärwen’s headstrong daughter had turned out to be very traditional in that respect – she had waited until a time of peace and safety to bring her daughter into the world. 

It had long been a quiet ache in Eärwen’s heart that she has never met her only living grandchild, and missed her childhood entirely. She knows her by report only. Many elves had flocked to Aman before the storm of Sauron, enough for her to learn that her granddaughter was brave, and clever, and counted a great beauty by the elves of the Hither Shores. She had not yet heard that her granddaughter had wed. But the ships have not arrived as often since the peace. 

_Mother says I may write to you if I wish, but you will not be able to write back. I am sad to think that you cannot answer, but I think it would be sadder still if no one ever wrote to you, so I am writing to tell you we think of you here. Grandmother says you would be pleased to know you have a great-granddaughter._

Now Celebrian was not only married, but had a daughter of her own, another grandchild Eärwen has never met – old enough now to write, but not yet grown enough to realize what a wide sea this little bottle had to cross.

_I hope you are well and not very unhappy that Grandmother is not in the West with you and Great-Grandfather. You must miss her terribly, but we would miss her just as much if she were in the West. She is a wonderful grandmother. I know she misses you – she often tells me stories about Alqualondë and the beautiful boats and you._

That must be how the letter came to be addressed as it was – the precious granddaughter she already loved sight unseen had heard the story of the swan-maiden of Alqulondë. It must have made a pretty tale, the sea princess and her dashing prince from the shining white city. If one did not know what happened later, it would sound terribly romantic. 

“She was but twelve when this was written,” Arafinwë whispered almost reverently. He was already further down the page than she, reading avidly over her shoulder, as greedy for the words as she was herself. 

There was no telling how long it has been floating across the sea, even if Uinen herself had seen to it that it arrived. 

This child is the only one who has ever written. Celebrian never had, nor Nerwen. Nor, she realized as she read further, the older brothers – twins – who have helped her, making the bottle.

_My brothers say if you and our other grandparents are to see it, I must not use a plain bottle as I thought to do first. (Elrohir said when they thought I did not hear that he did not think this will ever reach you, but maybe they hope it will – why else did they take such care to make the bottle pretty?) I asked them first to make a swan shape, but Elladan said a swan’s slender neck might break in a storm or rough seas and my letter would be ruined, so it is made to be sturdy and only decorated with swans. I hope you like it. My brothers worked very hard on it._

The boys, then, are old enough to realize that the West is more distant than their baby sister understands. But the child’s faith and her brothers’ indulgence of her has been enough that she now holds in her hand evidence that three children on the far side of the sea want to be known to her.

_Do you see our great-grandmother Itarillë very often? She must be very brave, for she sailed West before the Straight Road was open, to save her husband. Father says they found the way West and that Tuor was allowed to live as one of the Eldar though he was an Adan. I hope that is true, it would be very sad for Grandmother Itarillë if it were not._

For the first time, it occurred to Eärwen that she has overlooked one person who could tell her more of her daughter and granddaughter – Eärendil sailed the night sky, and sees the events on the Hither Shores as no other West of the Sea may do. It has never occurred to her before to ask him for news. 

Until now. He surely would know more of these children. He must – if Itarillë is their great-grandmother, these children are his own grandchildren. Celebrian must have wed the twin who had chosen the life of the Eldar.

That, she realized with a start, makes these children Anairë’s descendants as well. Poor Anairë had even less to cling to than Eärwen, for not only all her children, but her husband, law-children, and grandson were yet in Mandos. 

Anairë was Eärwen’s dearest friend – and they share grandchildren now. She was certain Anairë did not know. Eärendil rarely goes to Tirion, nor does his wife often stray far from the sea, waiting as they do for their surviving son to sail West. Their wait has been a long one, and painful – for they wait now for only one where once there were two. There is no hope the other will return from Mandos, for he chose the fate of Men.

_Elladan says I must not write a very long letter, or it will not fit. This is the first letter I have ever written to someone I have not met, but if I did not write until we have met, you would have a very long wait, for we may not sail for many years yet. Adar says we shall remain until the lands are safe for our mortal cousins, and that may be yéni. I hope you like this letter._

She would wonder at the girl not writing of her father’s parents, except that her husband had told her the sons of Eärendil had not even recognized him when he fought Ancalagon. They had no memory of their father, and little more than faint impressions of their mother. What they remembered was that their parents had left. That was not a story to pass on to children.

_We are traveling to Mithlond soon to visit Adar’s friend Lord Cirdan. I will put this bottle in the water then. I think Lord Ossë will look out for it, for he is fond of the Lindar and of swans. I shall tell him quietly that it is very important. I am sure he will help._

She will seek Ossë out later to ask if he had indeed brought this little bottle safe to the Blessed Realm. It was a whimsical notion, and yet something that might well have struck his fancy, especially if asked so earnestly by a child.

_Please greet our other kin, I know there must be more than I remembered to write in this letter. I love you all and I know I will meet you someday. I will write again soon._

_With much love,  
Arwen Undomiel_

There were tears in Arafinwë’s eyes as well as hers when they met, for the moment was bittersweet. They have missed the childhoods of their grandchildren, and now their great-grandchildren as well. It is perhaps foolish to miss children they have never met, did not even know existed until today, and yet, neither of them could help it. 

“Someday,” her husband whispered to her. “Someday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Sulien and Curiouslywombat, for the idea - the title _Messages In Bottles_ was originally metaphorical.


	3. Looking to the East

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy finally writes to her relatives on the other side of the Sea.

Eärwen, once of Alqualonde, but for many years now the High Queen of the Noldor- a title that she still thinks of as belonging to her law-mother, even though it has been hers for two ages of Arda – spotted the courier long before he reached the palace gates. Her nephew always delighted in being the one to bring her the letters from her daughter’s granddaughter. Granddaughter _s_ , now.

The child all who arrive in Aman from the Hither Shores speak of in the same breath as her son Ingoldo still does not write, but her youngest sister has joined Arwen Undomiel in sending regular letters assuring the grandparents, great-grandparents, and other kin they may not meet for years – if ever – that together they will convince Anariel to write.

Eärwen is more than willing to be patient with Nerwen’s golden grandchild not writing if she will only persuade her sisters to choose as she has. For that is something else all who arrive speak of – the certainty that though born to the choice of the peredhil, Anariel Elorondiel is elf-kind, not mortal. She will eventually come to Aman one way or another, though Eärwen dearly hopes it will be by the Straight Road. Her younger boys have been in the Halls so long…

With so many elves forsaking the Hither Shores, fleeing the resurgence of Sauron, they have had frequent news in the years since Tindomiel’s birth. Where once they might have gone decades without Arwen being able to dispatch her missives, it is now rare for it to be more than a year between letters. The last was scarcely ten months ago.

The ellon that accompanied her brother-son was unknown to her, but Earlindo assured her he was until recently one of the Imladrim, the folk who look to her granddaughter’s husband as their lord. Earlindo’s eyes were fairly dancing as the newcomer blushed slightly at the explanation he had been brought to give along with the letters he carried. Not one letter, but two – and the second was in an unfamiliar hand.

“Anariel Dagnis did not want the first letter to be sent, my lady,” he said apologetically. “She is furious with her sisters. She reached the Havens just before we sailed, and tried to convince myself and my companions to hand it back to her. But we told her it was not ours to decide, for we had been charged to deliver them into Lady Elwing’s hands and your own. When she could not persuade us, she handed over another letter from her alone and wrote another for Lady Elwing.”

Eärwen raised a well-practiced eyebrow. She had seen enough quarrels between her children over the years, not to mention her many nephews and nieces to be intrigued rather than worried. She was sure the girls would work it out. Perhaps they already had.

And she now understood Earlindo’s mirth, for he had doubtless heard the story already when the hapless courier handed over Elwing’s copy – and that may prove interesting, for Arwen’s letters to her father’s mother are not identical to the ones she sends to Tirion. And Anariel’s pair of letters certainly cannot be identical, not when she’d written the second one on the spot!

“I think you, sir, for your kindness in bringing both letters as well as the tale of how they came to us,” she said.  
She was grateful that the man seemed to understand her desire to read them as soon as possible, and departed after only brief courtesies. Earlindo would doubtless return as soon as he saw the newly arrived elf on his way.

Tempting as it was, she knew her husband would be deeply disappointed if she opened either letter without him, so she took both and set out to find Arafinwë. He was in his office, in conversation with his brother and law-sister Anairë. Just as well, for they would doubtless also take an interest in the first letter Anariel had ever written of her own accord.

Her husband brightened at the sight of her as he always did, but his eyes widened when he saw what she carried.

“Fresh tidings from Arwen?” he asked in delight.

“Not only from Arwen,” she replied, holding up the second letter so he might see that it was not the writing they all knew so well. “The Morningstar and the Evenstar have finally found a way to make their sister write, though it seems their method was not to Anariel's liking.”

“Read hers first!” Nolofinwë exclaimed, no less eager than his brother for the first words from the descendant he might not meet for many years yet.

Eärwen carefully opened the letter. The hand was not as elegant as her sisters’, but it was perfectly legible- the script, she decided, of someone who did not care for flourishes or fanciness, only that what she wished to say was communicated clearly and quickly. And thank the Valar, it was entirely in tengwar, with none of the curious California runes that have often been scrawled on Arwen’s letters by both her sisters and occasionally Anariel’s foster sisters as well.

She read it aloud.

“Dear grandparents, great-grandparents, and any uncles, aunts, cousins, or other kinsfolk- I am fine. My arm is fine. It is still firmly attached to the rest of me and was never in danger of being otherwise. My sisters exaggerate ridiculously.”

Eärwen has never seen or heard anything to suggest that Arwen exaggerates, particularly not regarding the safety or health of the little sisters she adored. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself that no matter how much she did not believe Anariel’s breezy assurance, clearly the girl was well enough to write. And it did not appear to be a letter preparing her grandparents for her imminent arrival.

“Also,” she continued, “if I am lucky and you open this before you read whatever Arwen sent, throw hers in the fire. It is completely unfair to take advantage of your injured younger sibling, especially when you’re the one responsible for having given her painkillers she didn’t ask for. I don’t think she will do it again, because if she does, her hair is going to be bright green when you meet her in person…”

Eärwen has to pause to laugh, because at this point there is a blotch and a sudden scrawl where two girls have clearly fought for control of pen or paper (or possibly both.) Anariel must have been the victor, as hers was the only hand on the page.

“…and I don’t care if she shaves my head to get even, she’s welcome to _try_. In the highly unlikely event she actually succeeds, it will grow back and everyone already knows what I look like anyway because she’s sent pictures.”

Arwen has been known to write passages in a conversational tone that are intended to be read out at her sister before sending, in the hopes of either beguiling or annoying her into adding a few lines of her own. It seemed Anariel had turned the tables.

“And yes, I am totally sending this, Arwen, no matter how ridiculous and childish it sounds. If you didn’t want me to, you shouldn’t have sent the other one. Good luck outriding me to the Havens, because you’ll have to find your horse before you can go anywhere.”

(Evidence of another struggle, which Eärwen exhibited to her amused audience.)

“I’m not reading out loud anymore. Sorry you’re getting such a silly letter, but I told my sister I was going to send it so now I kind of have to. Please pass my greetings to Glorfindel’s- no,” Eärwen explained for the benefit of her listeners, “that bit is struck through. She’s crossed it out and rewritten Laurefindil’s- parents and tell them he is a very good influence and any trouble I get into is entirely my own fault, he really does try.”

By this point, Eärwen’s husband and his brother were both wiping away tears of laughter, because Arwen was right, they really were getting a much clearer idea of Anariel in her own words than her older sister’s far more proper letters conveyed.

Also, both of them have at one time or another scolded every one of their children for being a bad influence on younger siblings and cousins, exactly as their father used to scold his children when they were young - it sounds as if Finwë’s words have echoed through the ages on the other side of the Sea as well.

“Nana sends her love, although she looks a little confused about why she’s sending it through me instead of Arwen, and Ada apologizes for whatever I’ve done that’s bad enough that I suddenly decided to write. I think he only said that to worry me. He always knows when I’ve actually done something, so he should also know that I haven’t done anything.”

Ah, the mention of her parents made clear how she had been able to finish her letter without further interruptions.

Even Anairë has lost the battle not to laugh as Eärwen read the final lines.

“And now you can see for yourselves why I don’t write letters, because I’m really bad at it and it’s strange writing to people who can’t write back. I probably won’t do this again. But it shouldn’t be too long the way elves reckon it, before I’m on your side of the Sea.”

“Love and hugs to you all, and I will see you whenever I get there. Buffy, also known as Anariel.”

“Sweet Elentári,” Anairë gasped. “Everyone says _Findarato_ , but I hear _Irissë_.”

Eärwen dearly hoped not. Her own daughter was a handful when she was young – and indeed, even when she was not so young. Arafinwë had been unable to convince Nerwen to return home when the Valar had lifted the ban on the exiles. But she was never as wild or reckless as her cousin.

As the only granddaughters of Finwë, and begotten in the same month besides, the two girls had been the best of friends despite their differing temperaments. Eärwen had known in her heart when Fëanor rebelled that if either girl followed him, the other would go as well. She has never blamed her husband for not bringing her daughter home, no matter what others thought. One could sooner shift the stars than force Artanis Nerwen to do something against her will.

If Artanis’ granddaughter has inherited that same indomitable spirit, then Middle Earth has gained a formidable defender, and Sauron an implacable foe. But for those on this side of the Sea, and for Eärwen in particular, it means only worry – one more child to pray for, that she does not end as so many of her forebears have, in Namo’s care, waiting to be reborn.


End file.
